


Reflections of Relapse

by Mamapotterhead2492



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Disapproving Family, Drug Addiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamapotterhead2492/pseuds/Mamapotterhead2492
Summary: Cedric Diggory is drowning in his own self loathing. He's lost nearly everything. And this is a day in the life. (Mentions of a disapproving father upset with his gay son, alcoholism and Felix Felicis addiction).
Relationships: Cedric Diggory & Dean Thomas
Comments: 32
Kudos: 22
Collections: Sing Me a Rare: The Mash-Ups





	Reflections of Relapse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare: Mash Ups. Much love to my Beta and Alpha who shall remain nameless for the moment. My songs were Rx/Medicate by Theory of A Deadman and Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Allison Krauss

A pounding in his head woke him. Sitting up, rubbing his eyes, and tousling his messy mahogany hair, he stared out his penthouse window, at the overcast sky that greeted him. The grey-almost black-clouds matched his mood; he had no desire to face the world today. Standing finally, he thought about how happy he should be with the life he led. A successful and wealthy cursebreaker, a cutting-edge, popular, entrepreneur taking the professional Quidditch circuit by storm. However, he was rarely happy nowadays. Working two jobs, or one job to fund your start-up, as had been his case, was exhausting and lonely. He knew he could choose from any of the many ladies who flaunted themselves at the wealthy, strong, handsome businessman, but none of them interested him. He pretended they did, for his father's sake, but only so.

Because Amos Diggory would not have a son who was less than successful, loved, adored and well-known. It had often been a point of contention between him and his father. Amos had expectations for him to be an important member of the Ministry, a cursebreaker more specifically, but his desired career had always been in Quidditch. After years of playing Quidditch and even a stint as a semi professional player, Cedric had an idea for Quidditch pads made from a lighter weight material that actually provided more protection. 

After months of working with local designer, Dean Thomas, on developing the material, he had mass-produced a new type of Quidditch armour that was twice as strong but half as cumbersome; made from a rare breed of Acromantula silk with the finest dragon skin, specially skived to the thinnest form of leathery hide they could manage without compromising the protective quality. The product had sold like hot Cauldron Cakes off the Hogwarts treat trolley. Apparently, parents of Hogwarts students were willing to pay top galleons for their children's safety, and after everything that had happened during Harry's years at Hogwarts, Cedric didn't blame them. 

Breaking from his thoughts and staggering sleepily to his desk, his fingers pushed away slender, golden hued vials, with delicate gold lettering printed across the bulbous middle, they cluttered the desk so that he couldn't find what he sought. 

They taunted him.  _ Felix _ taunted him. Felix Felicis had given him everything: success as a curse breaker, luck enough with the ladies to keep his father happy, his success as an entrepreneur, his luck in finding someone he had wanted to spend his life with… 

However Felix, and the crash that came after a Felix-fueled high; the untouchable feeling of knowing even your faults will be to your benefit, the indescribable feeling of knowing nothing and no one can touch you, having the man of your dreams profess his desires wanting to run off to America and marry you, the crushing defeat of your business almost collapsing, the bruised ego of your Quidditch coach telling you the team was better off without you and so and so was a better fit for the team, later finding out said coach didn't want a 'fag' on his Quidditch team, not to mention the endless lecture from your father berating you for loving someone who wasnt what he pictured for his son and your life… it was draining, it was chaos, it was hell. 

Looking up from his search as rain began to strike his window, the quiet  _ pitter patter _ of the droplets falling reminded him of the tears that he had spilt when it all went south. 

When things with Dean had started to fall apart, thanks Dad, his addiction to the high of Felix had gotten stronger, more persistent. He had started buying vial after vial off of a wandering apothecary person in Knockturn Alley.

_ Darkness had fallen on Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, and he used the shadows to his aide. None of his friends or family could know he was here, they'd never understand. Pulling his wool cloak up over his head, he ducked behind some stairs when he heard footsteps outside Gringotts.  _

_ As he descended the steps between Diagon Alley and its darker counterpart, he could smell years of rotting rat corpses and Death Eaters who had been on the run so long they hadn't showered in months, if not years. Knockturn Alley smelled of mildew, and body odor most prominently. However, he still pressed on. Passing by Borgin and Burke's, and other shops he didn't recognize the name of, he ventured to a dark corner of the alley where his dealer liked to hide out.  _

_ "Ahhhh Mister Diggory… welcome back. How many vials do you need, my friend, my customer… my, anyway. How may I be of service on this wonderfully overcast London day?" The slimey, serpentine voice, asked, as a slender nose peeked into the light.  _

_ "How much for…. Ten vials? I'll pay whatever you ask. I've got five hundred galleons on me, b-b-but I can get more if need be," he stuttered, fidgeting and jumping at every noise that echoed off the cavernous stone walls.  _

_ "Ten vials for five hundred galleons, aren't you shorting yourself Diggory?" _

_ "Fine. Give me twenty. I don't care, I just  _ **_need_ ** _ it."  _

_ The disguised wizard nodded and reached out a shriveled, wrinkly hand, motioning for the money purse. Cedric handed it to him and in exchange, he received twenty small vials of Felix Felicis. Nodding his goodbye, he turned tail and took off back up to Diagon Alley.  _

A loud crack of thunder shook the penthouse and made Cedric jump, scattering the bottles and sending them shattering to the floor. Several vials shattered and sent glass at his toes, causing him to wince in pain.

That was the thing about Felix, it gave you everything, gave you a taste of the good life, and then it took control of you taking everything it had given you away. All Felix gave you was an aching, ripping, seething, throbbing pain. As Cedric remembered everything that had been stolen from him, his eyes fell onto what he had been searching for on his desk. 

A picture. The  _ only _ picture his father hadn't been able to find and destroy of him and his best friend, his lover… his everything. Dean's shining, genuine, loving smile beamed up at him from the photograph. In the next flash of a second, he and Dean were lovingly staring deep into each other's eyes, and then they kissed. Picking it up slowly and running his rough hewn fingers over the face of the love of his life, Cedric had to hold back tears. Stalking away from the cage-like walls of his bedroom, with the taunting thinking of rain on the windows, he made his way to the kitchen. He had a mini alcohol chest there, and he desperately needed a drink. 

That was his newest problem. In order to kick his Felix habit, he had taken up drinking. It was unhealthy to replace one addiction for another, he knew that; he also knew he was a bit of a lightweight when it came to alcohol - he didn't care much at this point. Reaching his alcohol chest, he fished for a bottle of thirty year old Irish whiskey that Dean had given him for Christmas the year they made their first million galleons. Grabbing the slender neck of the bottle, he removed it from the chest and stomped into his sitting room. 

Unlike the carefree, delightful high of liquid luck, alcohol did dark things to Cedric's mind; dark things that almost made him forget… almost. Sitting in his favorite leather armchair, he opened the bottle and drank it down straight, only slightly wincing at the strength of it. Closing his eyes, he waited. 

When he opened them again, he could see shadows climbing the walls. Faces came in and out of focus, laughing at him, jeering and jesting at his expense. When those disappeared, his father's face surfaced. His father's normally kind face was twisted in anger and bright red. His finger was pointing at Cedric disparagingly. Shaking his head, Cedric stood and stumbled back toward his alcohol chest. Grabbing a bottle of ten year old Ogden's Finest, he made his way back to his chair. 

Closing his eyes as he chugged the familiar fluid, he remembered when his father had berated him for loving Dean… in front of Dean. It had mortified himself and Dean, and it had been the catalyst to the end of he and Dean. 

  
  


_ "Dean! Dean, Dean, come on! Wait up! I dont give a  _ **_damn_ ** _ what my father thinks! Let's take Diggory Designer Digs to America and make a life together! Please! Dean!" Cedric had implored as Dean stormed out of the Diggory Designer Digs office.  _

_ Dean finally turned around, sharply so, causing Cedric to topple into him. Grabbing him and setting him right, Dean shook his head.  _

_ "It's over, Cedric. I'm sorry. I wish you luck with your business in the future," he said, turning again and disappearing into the cold, London downpour.  _

And right after that, he had spiraled into a cycle of bing-lucking, taking a vial of Felix the second the one before it wore off, and when he couldn't anymore, he would drink alcohol until he had more liquid luck money. 

"Why did this happen to me?" He slurred to himself, succumbing to numbness that always came with drinking. It was the only thing that even began to help him forget Dean. 

"Why me?" He cried out again. Nothing and no one answered him. Not even the ghosts of memories had his answers. 

"What did I do so wrong?" He sobbed, placing the cool glass neck of the whiskey bottle against his temple, "All I wanted was to be happy. How did all of that," he gestured grandiosely to no one, "Turn in, to all of this?" 

He gestured toward his chest and the empty bottle. 

"I used to be great, you know; so great," he sobbed harder, "Star Quidditch Seeker, loved only son of a well known and respected Ministry worker, Tri-wizard Champion, noted and revered cursebreaker… What's happened to me?! What I ask you! What has happened to the once blossoming, strong, smart, loved Cedric Diggory?!" He howled, anger now fueling his tears. 

Standing very clumsily, he staggered and swayed his way back to his alcohol chest, finding another bottle of Ogden's, and practically crawling back to his chair. 

When he reached it, he sunk back into it. He opened the bottle without hesitation and raised the full bottle into the air, sloshing it all over his hand and forearm, slowly extending the middle finger of the hand still holding the bottle into the air. 

"Sod off Father. I hope you live with regret the rest of your life. I'm going to go to America, and I'm going to live my best, flipping you a big metaphorical one of these with every choice I make with my new life. Every One!!!" 

With this last declaration, he chugged the entire bottle of Ogden's, slumping into the chair with the last drink, causing the bottle to clatter to the floor. His last thoughts of when his father had told him of Dean's leaving. Dean had left after that incident with Amos, met a muggle in a small town, and forgotten him. Dean was happy… now Cedric could be happy too. Slumping forward, everything in his world faded to black. 

  
  
  


A few hours later, Dean had the owner of Cedric's building letting him in. He had heard from Hermione, Harry, and many others about Cedric's sad state. The handsome, smart, businessman, had been slipping through their fingers for months now. They tried to keep him grounded, keep him distracted, but nothing they tried had pulled him free from his own mind. When no one had heard from Cedric in three days, Harry had called Dean. 

Opening the door finally, Dean could see Cedric's chair, the one piece of furniture in the kitchen and front adjacent sitting room, facing a barren wall. No pictures, no livelihood, no levity, nothing personal. It made Dean's chest tighten with anguish. However, Dean noticed someone in Cedric's chair, slumped forward, not receiving air. Running forward, he sat the person up, noticing Cedric's vacant expression and began to try and resuscitate him. 

"No, Cedric, no! I was wrong! I'm so sorry! I never should have left you. I should've stayed with you and planned our trip to America. Please wake up Cedric, please, wake up!" He screamed, tears falling from the curves of his cheeks, onto Cedric's pale face. 

  
  


"MYYYYYY B-B-B-B-B-BOOOOOOYYYYYYYY!!!!!!" Amos' voice rang out from the doorway


End file.
